


First Impressions Matter

by afteriwake



Series: In So Few Words [65]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autopsies, Awkward Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective Molly, First Meetings, Gen, Molly Likes Sherlock, Nervous Sherlock, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Rude Molly, Sherlock Has A Crush, Specialist Registrar Sherlock, Swaplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 19:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: Sherlock isn't quite sure exactly what happened in this first meeting with Molly Hooper...but apparently she likes him.





	First Impressions Matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ethanamide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethanamide/gifts).



> So this is a _loooooong_ overdue birthday gift to **mollyandherjumper** , who asked for a Swaplock fic (" _what about, the first time swap!molly walks into bart’s morgue and sherlock, who is normally level headed and articulate, finds himself all tongue tied around the new detective?_ ") for her birthday. I had no idea how to write this type of swaplock, but eventually **Ethanamide** claimed it and I got inspired.

He liked everything to make sense. And for some reason, the woman standing in front of him was throwing his whole routine...no, his whole _life_...out of whack. 

He didn’t like it.

Supposedly Molly Hooper was a genius and billed herself as the world’s only consulting detective. He’d been told no one really liked her because she didn’t like anyone. What few people could stand her were one or two Detectives at Scotland Yard and Stamford, though he was more bullied into letting Ms. Hooper use a lab than willing. Apparently, having Ms. Hooper on the grounds of Barts had its benefits.

Right now, though, he couldn’t see what they were.

Not that she was being rude to _him_ , which was a surprise. Most people thought he could be run over with their demands and their extra work, but he shouldered it well enough. It got him noticed, at least, and he heard he might be in line for assistant head of the department. His family would be proud that Dr. Sherlock Holmes was actually going up in the world.

As long as he played nice with Ms. Hooper, of course.

She was watching him with a curious look as he continued the autopsy of a victim of DI Donovan’s. He and Donovan got along well enough, he supposed, but he could see the way she looked at Ms. Hooper as if she was waiting for her consultant to bark out orders and deductions any minute now. But Ms. Hooper was staying quiet, tapping her fingers on her crossed arms. It was Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, he realized. Not that he would say anything because it just might irritate her.

“It looks as though Mr. Hartwood was poisoned,” he said finally, looking up and pushing up the spectacles he wore when working. He felt rather sloppy compared to how impeccable the two women across from him looked, especially Ms. Hooper, who wore a tailored women's cut suit with a rather tight purple blouse. The extra button undone on her chest was rather distracting.

“Type?” Ms. Hooper said, snapping the word out.

“I have to run tests, Ms. Hooper,” he replied. “But I think cyanide might be it.”

“I don’t have time for uncertainty,” she said. “What do his internal organs look like?”

“Well, um...” he replied, gesturing to the body. “Typical of cyanide poisoning. But looks can be deceiving.”

“Yes, they can be,” she said, her tone slightly more mollified. “Is there anything distinctive we should be aware of?”

“There’s a pinprick, between his fingers,” Sherlock said.

DI Donovan looked surprised at that. “How can you tell?” she asked.

“Well, he has no other needle marks on his body, and the person who did it did a...” Ms. Hooper came closer and looked at the victim’s hand closely before pulling out a pocket magnifier to inspect it more closely.

“Our murderer did a piss-poor job,” Ms. Hooper said. “We need to check to see if there’s insulin in the blood. The wife is diabetic, and as needles can be a bother to get sometimes she may have reused one of hers.”

“Insulin-dependent?” Sherlock asked. Ms. Hooper looked up with a slight glare on her face. “No! It just...well, it makes sense if you’re looking for an insulin dependent murderer. The needles used are very thin, the same width as the mark between his fingers.”

“And how do you know that?” Ms. Hooper asked.

“My mother is insulin dependent. I’ve had to administer it before and sometimes she bled because I injected into the not so best spot,” Sherlock said, embarrassed. “I mean, you could have a heroin user but--”

“Yes, obviously that’s an option but the wife wants the husband dead,” she snapped. “Life insurance, large payout, so using a needle on hand makes sense.” She dropped the dead man’s hand. “Can you check for insulin in the bloodstream and around the injection site?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “I can...I can do that.”

“Then text me the results when you’re done,” she said, snapping off the gloves she had been wearing and walking towards the medical waste depository and tossing them in. “Come along, Donovan. We have work to do.”

Donovan looked at Ms. Hooper and then shook her head, turning to Sherlock. “You know, she must like you,” Donovan said.

“What?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“She didn’t call you an idiot. _Everyone_ is an idiot compared to her, apparently. Even me.”

“But you know what you’re doing,” Sherlock asked with a frown.

“Not always,” Donovan said, giving him a small smile. “If I did, I wouldn’t need a consultant.” She nodded to the body. “Text me the results as well, alright? Just because Her Highness demanded them doesn’t mean I don’t need them as well.”

Sherlock nodded, pushing up his glasses again. “I will,” he said before Donovan turned and walked away. He adjusted the sleeves of his fluffy bee jumper under his lab coat and then went to get a fresh pair of gloves. Apparently, he passed muster, he supposed. Maybe that meant he would see more of the interesting Ms. Hooper...


End file.
